


Feeding the Strays

by mia6363



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-24
Updated: 2015-01-24
Packaged: 2018-03-08 21:44:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,043
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3224531
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mia6363/pseuds/mia6363
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU. Ray liked to think he didn’t have a type, that if he wanted to fuck or get fucked he’d figure it out. But man—Ryan’s whole—pure-as-the-driven-snow vibe was really doing it for Ray.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Feeding the Strays

Ray drew the short straw, so he was the one getting slapped with handcuffs as the rest of the crew escaped. He winced as the cop slammed him against the police cruiser. His partner was looking elsewhere, trying to figure out where the rest of the crew went. 

“God damn it, there’s no way they’d get far with LA traffic. I’ll call out to nearby cruisers—”

Ray felt grubby fingers brush his mask. He propelled himself backwards and broke the cop’s nose with the back of his head. He popped his shoulders out, stepped over his wrists so his cuffed hands were in front of him—and before the other cop could turn around—Ray slammed his two clenched fists against his right temple. 

Eight blocks later, an out of breath Ray hopped on a bus. He shot a quick text out to Geoff that read: _Donezo_. 

The immediate response was: _GET OUT OF TOWN, FAR AWAY, ASAP_.

::::

Rule number one of being a professional criminal: 

Always be ready to leave at a moments notice. 

Packed bags, passports, money—no personal belongings left behind. Stripping an apartment bare shouldn’t take more than fifteen minutes, and the shorter the better. 

Ray cut the chain connecting his handcuffs and grabbed his evacuation bag. It took four minutes—his personal best.

An hour later he was jumping on a train—like the kind seen in old-as-balls movies. A few other people had hopped like him, one dude smelled like piss, and there were group of hippies. 

With a tight grip on his bag and a smile on his face, Ray let the wind blow through his hair, the stars blurring into lines above him. 

::::

Crescent Hills was the kind of town that was forgotten by the rest of the country. A railroad passed through, near the hiking trails, the library was very good and the movie theater sometimes would have an organist come in on the weekends to play for twenty minutes before each film. 

Ryan had to drive at least an hour if he wanted to find any store that was a chain. 

He loved it. 

It was a Sunday night and usually Ryan tried to be in bed by ten, but he’d let himself be caught up in his latest project—making the ultimate arcade addition to his gaming room—when he heard his front door open. Ryan whipped around because it was accompanied by footsteps and it was eleven-thirty at night.

_Holy shit_. Ryan was on his feet, trying to be quiet even though every breath from him sounded like a bomb going off. He snuck into his bedroom and grabbed his baseball bat from under the bed. Things like this never happened in Crescent Hills. There was a clatter in the main foyer. _Holy shit, I’m getting robbed._

Ryan tightened his grip on the bat, his knuckles white as he crept down the hall. 

A large backpack was on the floor, keeping the door propped open, and a thin— _Christ_ —what a thin figure. A kid. Ryan could see the kid was wearing glasses, had some stubble, and fumbled with one of Ryan’s tools, hissing a stinging, _“fuck,”_ under his breath. Ryan puffed out his chest. He could _totally_ take this kid, he was twice his size—he was an _adult_ who was definitely heavier and taller than whoever was messing around with Ryan’s tools. 

Ryan took a breath to say something intimidating, something like, “Don’t move, intruder,” channeling his inner Liam Neeson—but before he could even speak the kid whirled around, a gun pointed steadily at him. He didn’t look like a desperate on-edge criminal, if anything he was laid-back, his brown eyes barely blinking at Ryan and his bat. 

“Wow—I didn’t know people still considered bats to be a security measure. Cute.” The gun remained steadily pointed at Ryan’s thudding heart. “Seriously though, put it down.”

Ryan couldn’t move. He couldn’t help but thinking how in the movies disarming someone always looked a lot easier. If he made it out of this alive he was going to take kickboxing or something. The kid—seriously he couldn’t be older than twenty-two _tops_ —narrowed his eyes when Ryan didn’t immediately comply.

“I’m going to let this slide because I’m guessing this is the first time someone’s pointed a gun at you. Take a good look, dude, this is what a gun with the safety off looks like.”

“Okay.” Ryan’s voice wavered. He held the bat in one hand, keeping his other hand out, fingers spread. “Okay, I’ll just—I’ll just put it down.”

Ryan’s legs shook as he put the bat on the floor. The kid smiled.

“Good. Roll it over to me.” 

Ryan obeyed and the kid took the bat and tossed it out of the open door. Ryan thought maybe the gun would go away after that, but it stayed out. Ryan took a deep breath, struggling to calm down, and that was when he took in the big picture. The kid was skinny and he had—well, he had Ryan’s bolt cutters in his hand. And his wrists—

Oh God his wrists were bleeding badly. Nothing that would kill him, probably, but it was obvious that the skin was raw underneath and had only gotten worse. On the ground glimmered two silver half circles—and Ryan realized they were _handcuffs_ that had been cut in half, and that was when the kid used one hand to finish off the other cuff on his left hand. The bolt-cutter nicked the inside of the skin before it cut through the metal.

There was dirt on the kid’s face, probably from the woods, wherever he came from. Ryan lived miles away from… everyone. It was also caked on his jeans. He went to wipe his still bleeding wrists on his jeans and Ryan’s hand flew out.

“No, don’t!” The gun didn’t go off, the kid’s grip didn’t falter, but his eyes did widen. “That looks horrible, it’ll get infected.” 

The kid bit his lip, grimacing. 

“Look, no offense, but it’s not your problem. I’m just gonna get out of here and you’re going to go back to sleep, and tomorrow you’re going to do whatever it is people do for fun out here.” 

Ryan’s heart pounded in his chest, and what the kid was saying made sense. Hell, he was a _criminal_ , Ryan should be glad that kid wanted to get out of his house as soon as possible…

But Ryan couldn’t help thinking of his students. 

“I have a first aid kit. I’ll go get it, it’s in the bathroom—”

“I’m coming with you.” 

Ryan thought the short walk to the bathroom would take an hour, slowly inching forward with a gun pressed against his back. Instead it was almost normal, the kid keeping his distance but never putting down the weapon. Ryan grabbed the first aid kit from under the sink quickly. 

“There’s more room in the kitchen.”

“Cool,” the kid smiled easily, “lead the way.”

It was midnight when they sat down at the table. The kid put his gun away with a cocky smirk as he drawled, “I don’t have to say don’t try anything because you’re a smart dude, right?” 

Ryan took the kid’s hands into his own, pushing up his shirtsleeves and getting a good look at the damage. Ryan poured alcohol onto cotton balls and glanced up at the kid.

“This is going to sting.”

The kid didn’t say anything but when Ryan flushed out the wounds he hissed, his shoulders jumping but he didn’t tug his hand away. Ryan whispered, “I know, I know,” under his breath but kept at it, making sure to get all the dirt out before moving to the other hand. 

When he was done he wrapped the kid’s wrists in gauze. He finished off the smaller cuts with band-aids. The kid raised an eyebrow at the Spongebob characters on them. 

“You got kids?”

“What?” Ryan hiccupped, dropping the kid’s arm. “No, no—well, I have students, sometimes I call them my kids but most teachers do—but I don’t have _kids_ -kids, someday, hopefully, but not today. No kids.”

It was a miracle Ryan hadn’t gotten himself shot already. 

There was a brief moment of silence that seemed to last forever, but then the kid laughed, big and loud, wiping his eyes as he settled down. 

“Yeah well, it’s a good thing not to rush. A handsome guy like you must be knee deep in pink.”

He _winked_ and Ryan knew he was blushing, he could _feel_ it. Judging by the kid’s smirk, Ryan’s cheeks were scarlet. 

::::

The Spongebob band-aids were actually pretty sweet. Ray rubbed them absentmindedly, enjoying watching this guy squirm. He was a dork. A really, _really_ hot dork in an “I’m a fiscally responsible adult who likes cardigans,” way. 

Ray pulled his sleeves down and got up, stretching. 

“All right, thanks for that—I’m going to get out of here.”

“Uh—” Ray stopped, shooting the guy a look because _come on_ , for a dude who obviously wasn’t interested in taking Ray out or anything else nefarious, he was awfully interested in not having Ray leave. “It’s just—it’s dark. And I live miles away from everyone. Unless… are you really familiar with this area?”

Ray shifted, uncomfortable. 

“Well, I have a phone with a GPS, so—”

“What’s your provider?” 

“T-Mobile—why—”

“Yeah, that won’t work out here. The only provider that works here is Verizon.” 

There was a silence, because Ray was fucking stupid and should have checked or something. He was out of immediate danger, but it was still sloppy. He was a fucking idiot. As he berated himself internally he noticed that the guy, his sort-of-not-really-hostage was staring at him. 

“I can make something to eat. If you’re hungry.” 

It had been a while since Ray had been as scared as this guy probably was. He forgot the dumb shit flustered people do. The man’s face was still pink because he probably realized how ridiculous he sounded. Ray usually didn’t take pity on people, but he figured he’d give this guy a pass. 

“Yeah, sure—”

The guy stood up immediately, making Ray go back to being armed in less than a second. The guy’s hands immediately shot up and he jumped backwards, his back slamming against cupboards. It must have hurt, judging by his wince. Ray should never have put his gun away. He kept it trained on Ryan’s chest, making sure to keep his expression calm so the guy wouldn’t panic. 

“Do you… do you like pasta?” 

His eyes focused Ray’s gun, so he lowered it a little. 

“What kind?” 

A half an hour later Ray was digging into some of the most delicious penne he’d ever had and that _included_ Geoff’s cooking. Ray put down his gun to eat, and struggled not to moan at the flavor. The other guy ate as well, but he talked a lot.

His name was Ryan; he was a high school teacher who specialized in IT and he learned his impeccable cooking skills from an ex-girlfriend. He wore contacts but had a back-up pair of glasses. He also hated Mac computers and almost collapsed into a pile of tech jargon when Ray made the mistake of saying, “But Macs seem pretty cool.” 

Ryan pushed up the sleeves on his cardigan and ran his fingers through his hair. He was talking about hard drives and fire-wires—some serious nerd shit, but it didn’t matter. Ryan could have lapsed into tongues for all Ray cared, because what was getting Ray’s attention was the light flush to his cheeks and the shine in his eyes. 

_I want to wreck that_. Ray was almost startled at how fast his blood went from cool to fire-hot. Ray liked to think he didn’t have a type, that if he wanted to fuck or get fucked he’d figure it out. But man—Ryan’s whole—pure-as-the-driven-snow vibe was really doing it for Ray. Really, _really_ doing it.

Ryan kept talking and Ray’s mouth was dry because all he could think about was what Ryan would look like pressed against a wall, cardigan fucking shredded and marks from Ray’s teeth on his neck. Ray wanted to steal the breath from him, he wanted to make that man _mewl_ and _beg_ —he wanted to make Ryan’s voice die the next day—

Ray bit the inside of his own cheek to bring himself back into reality.

Rule number two of being a professional criminal:

Don’t flirt with a hostage.

Ray told himself laughing at Ryan’s PC enthusiasm wasn’t breaking the second rule. It wasn’t. He was still in control. 

::::

When Ryan was little, he would get in trouble for feeding strays. His mother tried to sit him down, her smile kind but strict. 

_“Ryan, you don’t want strays sticking around. They only bring trouble, sweetheart.”_

It wasn’t that Ryan didn’t understand the dangers, but he’d see a skinny dog with visible ribs and all of a sudden he didn’t need his lunch, he’d feed his sandwich to the mangy dog instead. He just felt that… everybody deserved a chance. 

Ryan’s… criminal guest called himself Ray. It might have been a fake name but it was better than calling him _kid_ in his head all the time. Ray seemed to think Ryan’s babbling was funny as he spread out a map across the table.

“My road goes on for four miles.” Ryan rubbed his eyes, yawning. “You take this all the way to the Interstate.” Ryan eyed Ray, who didn’t seem tired at all. “You… you can drive, right?”

Ray winked.

“Don’t worry, I’m legal.” He leaned over the map, his arm brushing Ryan’s shoulder as Ryan struggled to not feel like the world’s crustiest, dirtiest old man. “All right, on your road, who’s the biggest asshole?” 

“What… who is—why?”

Ray smiled—and Ryan hated how absolutely charming it was.

“Well, either I steal your car and you don’t get to your class on time, or I pick a random house on your street and steal their car, which could seriously bum out a perfectly decent person. Or, you can tell me someone who’s an asshole on your street so I can steal their car.” 

Ryan opened his mouth, a big, “I can’t,” because _how could he_ but Ray drummed his fingers against the table.

“You’ve got about ten seconds. Sun’s coming up, I need a car, come on man, I don’t want to ruin some family’s day because _someone_ didn’t have the balls to make a—”

“Here.” Ryan’s chest was tight as he pointed to the house five down from him. “This one.” 

The house belonged to the wrestling coach. He acted like he was in an extra misogynist noir film. He thought he was tough shit but just made everyone uncomfortable, especially the students. Ray studied it, repeated the exact address when Ryan told it to him, and then clapped his hands together.

“Got it.” 

Ryan watched as the dark sky began to get hints of a lighter blue. The sun hadn’t technically risen yet, but it was light enough out, a frigid mist creeping over the hills. The screech of the chair being pushed back made Ryan jump. Ray was standing and—was tearing at his own shirt, exposing his abdomen as his jeans slipped down, barely clinging to his hips. 

_Don’t stare, don’t stare, don’t stare—_

Ray cleared his throat. Ryan’s day couldn’t possibly get worse, and that was when he saw Ray toying with the long strip of his own shirt. 

“Think of this like hide and seek. Count to one-hundred, and then you can take this off.” Ryan straightened in his chair as Ray stepped between his legs, tying the cloth around his eyes. Ryan could feel Ray’s legs brush against the inside of Ryan’s thighs. His breath tickled Ryan’s cheek as the cloth tightened around his eyes. “I don’t want to shoot you. You’ve been an idiotically gracious host. Go to fucking Home Depot and get some locks for your door.”

Ray retreated, his steps soft against Ryan’s floor. Within seconds Ray was out of the door. 

Ryan took deep breaths and hoped Ray hadn’t noticed his erection. 

::::

When Ryan finally pulled off the blindfold and had about fifteen minutes to get ready for school, there was ten thousand dollars stacked neatly on his kitchen table. 

It wasn’t a mistake. Ray was young, but he didn’t seem like the type of kid to just leave money. Ryan hid it in the back of his closet in a shoebox. 

::::

“So… no one was gonna say anything because it’s like, totally your business of who you wanna bone… but… Ray, dude,” Michael sighed, gripping the steering wheel as Ray shot out the tires of the cops tailing them. “You’ve been nailing some serious _dads_ man. Like full on cardigans, dude.” 

The police cruiser crashed to the side and Ray reloaded. 

“What are you talking about?”

Michael swerved and quickly drove into a warehouse, shutting off the car. Geoff, Gavin, and Jack were on their way. Ray kept his eyes trained out the back as Michael kept his hand on the ignition. 

“I mean all the dudes you’ve been going home with for the past couple months look like they haven’t worn jeans in ten years. They probably also attend every PTA meeting.” Michael glanced at Ray. “You got a new type, dude?”

Ray shrugged, listening to the police channel as they struggled to find where the rest of the crew was. Michael snickered, tapping his fingers against the steering wheel.

“Oh. It’s about Mr. DILF, isn’t it?” Ray’s grip on his gun slipped and he turned, glaring at Michael through the rearview mirror. “Ha! I _knew_ it! Come on, really? All someone has to do is fucking make you dinner and you’re down to plow? Geoff makes us dinner all the time and you’re not sucking his dick!”

“Yeah well, I don’t want Griffon’s chainsaw up my ass, so I try to restrain myself.” 

Michael wouldn’t get that smug fucking grin off his face. Ray narrowed his eyes, because Michael knew Ray better than anyone—which meant when Ray wanted to hide things from the group, Michael was the one to see through it first. 

“You want my advice? Burn it out of your system.” Michael smiled. “Go find Mr. DILF and fuck him, get fucked by him and you turn his fucking world inside out. Let yourself have a weekend of that, then come back to Los Angeles and everything will rock again.” 

That was when Geoff pulled in and it was back to work for the next few hours. It was a whirl, as it always was and the adrenalin was better than any drug or drink. Ray was _buzzing_ and he knew Michael was right. He had to burn it out of him, like sweating out a bad fever. He gave Geoff some notice, promised that he’d keep his phone on him, and took a car and headed for the highway.

::::

Ryan didn’t usually go to bars, but it was a colleague’s birthday. She was nice and had honey-gold hair. Her name was Janine and everyone kept trying to set them up. Ryan would smile and laugh it off, but if he was being honest the people’s insistence made him uncomfortable. He supposed it was a small-town thing. 

He excused himself, pulling on his coat and scarf. Janine, whose cheeks were flushed, grabbed his arm.

“Come on, Ryan, stay awhile!” 

She licked her lips and Ryan smiled, gently pulling away.

“Sorry, I have a lot of quizzes to grade. I’ll see you Monday.”

With a final wave to everyone, Ryan left, bundled up, and headed to his car. He wondered if maybe he was being too harsh, that maybe he should just… go out with Janine. Even though any time he thought about the concept of dating, his dumb brain just jumped back to that night when he was blindfolded. 

Ryan pulled into his driveway to see that another car was already in his spot, and someone was on his porch. He turned off his truck, wondering if one of his neighbors had a broken laptop or something—and that was when he saw the glint of easy-going smirk that had been haunting him for months. 

“Hi.” 

Ray was only in a hoodie and he must have been cold, but he didn’t let it show. He was still skinny and Ryan heart thudded in his chest. 

“Hello.” Ryan didn’t know if he should approach… because what if he was getting robbed again? Ray seemed to read his mind, because he waved him forward. “I don’t have a gun. Here, I’ll teach you how to look.”

Ray’s grip was strong around Ryan’s wrist and he directed Ryan’s hands to his sides, to his thighs and hips—pressing Ryan’s hands hard against Ray’s clothes and skin. When Ryan didn’t feel anything except Ray’s warmth, Ray smirked. 

“See? Nice and safe.” 

Their breath puffed out into the cold in front of them. Ryan was worried he was going to say something stupid, like if Ray wanted dinner again, maybe the world’s most awkward “So how have you been?” 

Luckily, Ray had other ideas.

::::

Ryan kissed _exactly_ the way Ray _knew_ he would. 

He was so stupidly _sweet_ about it. His hands were so soft and they rested on Ray’s cheek once they were inside. He kissed the way little girls dreamed of Prince Charming kissing. Chaste until otherwise specified. 

Well fuck that. Ray didn’t have fucking _time_ for that. To plow, or not to plow, that was the question. 

Ray shoved Ryan up against his kitchen wall and bit into his lower lip, his right hand reaching down and squeezing Ryan’s erection. Ryan moaned in that deep voice of his and Ray needed Ryan to come _right the fuck now._

With a few tugs, Ray had Ryan’s belt off and unzipped his kakis ( _he was wearing fucking kakis, man_ ). Ryan swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing and his baby-blue eyes dark with blown out pupils. Ray was burning so _hot_ , he need to _burn it out_ , so he dropped to his knees, yanked down Ryan’s underwear, and gave Ryan the best blowjob of his life. 

He knew it was the best because Ray had incredible skills and Ryan’s fingers wove through his hair, his hips thrusting into Ray’s mouth, too shallow to mean it, like he was helpless under Ray’s tongue. 

“What are—” Ray sucked hard on Ryan’s head and Ryan shuddered, “ _oh, Ray_ —what are you _doing_?”

Ray pulled back, glancing up at Ryan. 

“I’m sucking your dick, dude, what’s it fucking look like?”

Ryan had time to choke out a laugh before Ray’s free hand snuck behind Ryan’s balls, pressing against his perineum and Ryan’s grip in Ray’s hair tightened. Ray was pretty sure he broke his all time record for making someone come, and when he was able to pull back, some come dripping down his chin, Ryan looked… dazed. His hair was all over the place and his legs were shaking. 

He was wrecked, but not wrecked enough. Ray thought that blowing Ryan would take the edge off, but if anything it just made everything worse. Ryan kept looking at him, like Ray had reinvented the wheel or something. He pulled Ray to his feet and gave him one of his soft Prince-Charming kisses. 

“Come on,” Ryan’s deep voice was already starting to get scratchy and fuck Ray’s dick was _throbbing_ he was so hard. “The bed’s a lot more comfortable than the floor.” 

As Ryan led Ray down the hallway he peeled off his sweater and shirt. Ray fumbled to take off his clothes because yeah, he was going to _get fucked_ tonight. Ryan wasn’t ripped; he didn’t have a thousand and one abs. He was soft, actually, but Ray liked that. Fuck, he liked that a lot as he pushed Ryan down against his own bed. 

“Where’s your lube?” 

Ryan had to struggle with the nightstand for a bit, but he finally was able it to Ray. Ray immediately poured it out on his fingers and slipped them inside himself. Ryan’s fingers dug into Ray’s hips. 

“Do you—do you want me to do that? I could do that.”

Ray smiled and winked at Ryan.

“I’m sure you could. I’ll be faster. You work on getting hard again. You’re gonna fuck me. Then I’m gonna fuck you.” Ray paused, his heart pounding in his chest as Ryan opened a condom and rolled it onto his cock. “You’re cool with that, right?” Ryan nodded so fast he almost gave himself whiplash. Ray grinned, removing his fingers because he was so ready for this. “Awesome.”

::::

Ryan was pretty sure if someone could die of sex, he came very close to keeling over that weekend. Ray never wanted to stop, there were plenty of times when Ryan would still be inside Ray, flaccid, but Ray would just kiss him, bite his neck and nipples until Ryan was getting hard _again_. 

They took a break Saturday night because Ray’s stomach was growling so loud it was a distraction. And by break, Ray napped and Ryan made food because they were both starving. 

A few omelets and hash browns later, Ryan was putting together a tray to bring back into the bedroom when he heard a loud “ _WHAT THE FUCK_ ,” coming from… a room that was not his bedroom. Ryan ran, tray in his hands, and opened the door to his entertainment center to see Ray standing in the middle of the room with a sheet wrapped around his waist. 

“What happened? Are you okay?” 

Ryan set the breakfast tray gently down because Ray’s hands were shaking. Ray turned, his eyes wide. 

“You’ve got every gaming console ever here… and… an arcade DDR mat?” 

Ryan swallowed. A lot of people thought it was immature for a grown man like Ryan to be into games. 

“Yes, I… I’m a gamer.” 

Ray smiled like it was the best news he’d heard all day.

“Yeah you are, dude.” He saw the tray. “And you made breakfast? Fuck, you need to stop being so sexy.”

Ryan laughed because he thought it was a joke, but they weren’t able to make it back to the bedroom for a few hours. Ryan’s back was starting to hurt but he didn’t care. 

Ray’s fingers curled inside of him, his smile pressed into Ryan’s thigh as Ryan moaned loud, too far gone to be embarrassed. Ray kept hitting that spot and Ryan was going to _lose his voice_ if this kept up.

“Scream, Ryan.” Ray finally took his fingers away only to replace it with his cock. “I want you to scream for me.”

Thank God Ryan lived miles away from anyone because he did everything Ray told him.

::::

When Ryan came to, it was six-thirty on Monday morning and his bed was cold. He sat up and immediately his entire body throbbed in pain. Harsh scratches ran down his back and thighs. Ryan rubbed his eyes.

“Ray?” Ryan swung his legs over on the bed. His voice was shot; no amount of tea would ever revive it. “Ray?”

The house was empty, and everything in Crescent Hills was quiet. 

Ray was gone.

::::

Michael was full of shit.

Ray’s leg bounced. It had only been three months since his weekend away from Los Angeles. It had been three months and he’d taken every other weekend off to go back and fuck Ryan. No other sex compared, it couldn’t—because the guys always kissed wrong, grabbed at him too hard—they weren’t good enough. Ray was going to lose his fucking mind, and it was all Michael’s fault. 

He waited, eye on the scope as the crew went into the bank. It was supposed to be quick and easy. 

Ray got about a five second head start when he heard Geoff screaming in his ear before he heard the police helicopter. 

_“Everyone make a fucking break for it—get out of you ca—”_

Ray was on the move when Geoff’s channel got cut off, and the helicopter started shooting, one shot grazing his shoulder. Ray hopped to the ladder, his pink sniper rifle on his back, and he figured today was going to be a bad day, but nothing to write home about. 

A bullet nipped the ladder prongs and peeled back the skin on Ray’s knuckles. As he fell, that’s when he knew that that day would be different. 

::::

Rule number three of being a professional criminal:

Don’t let anyone see you be weak.

Geoff had time to tell them not to go to any safe houses or doctors. Ray figured that counted as a blessing as he clutched his shoulder and smashed the window to a piece of shit car. He sped down the highway and kept trading cars and looking over his shoulder even during the witching hours. He drove even though he was light-headed from blood loss. 

He doubled over the steering wheel, swallowing down the urge to vomit. He drove up Ryan’s driveway and fell out of the car. His shoulder had a hole in it and he could see two of the bones in his left hand. 

He pounded on Ryan’s door with his right.

“Ryan. Ryan, open up, man!” 

It was fucking freezing because Ryan lived in the boons. Ray kicked at the door, the door that had locks now because Ray suggested it. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Ryan was probably calling the cops right now. 

Ray slid to the floor, opening his bag and grabbing duct tape. It wasn’t fancy but it would help stop the bleeding in his shoulder. He ripped it with his teeth, wrapping up his shoulder. He kept his left hand close to his chest and he remembered thinking that if the cops did show up, at least he’d get to a hospital that had heating. 

He leaned back against the door and tried to stay awake.

He lasted for two minutes before he fell unconscious. 

::::

Ryan didn’t normally stay for the choir and band concerts, but it was the big holiday one and he did like Christmas music. The teachers wanted to go out, and Janine invited him to a bar… but Ryan just wanted to go home. And he could still feel Ray’s scratches from last weekend sting in his skin.

When he saw a car in his driveway he berated himself at how badly he hoped it was Ray. Ryan got out, and that was when he saw a shadow on his door. 

“Ray?” 

The person didn’t respond. Ryan couldn’t tell if they were breathing. He broke out into a run.

::::

Ray had almost died before. He’d fallen off the pier, a heist gone bad, and Geoff had been the one to pull him out of the water and give him CPR. Ray hadn’t seen any bright lights; he didn’t get a sudden inspiration and clarity about what life meant. One minute he was asleep, the next he was coughing up water onto Geoff’s shoes. 

He first felt warm… which either meant he was safe or was dying of hypothermia. When he moved his right pinky finger he felt cloth. His clothes were gone. Ray’s eyes flew open and he jerked awake, trying to sit up even though his muscles screamed about how bad of an idea that was. He didn’t scream or take off running, but he did clench his right hand and struggled to look around, wishing he had his glasses—

“Whoa, Ray—calm down, you’re uh, you’re safe.” Ryan’s hand, his soft, not-calloused hand, pressed against Ray’s bare chest. “Take it easy, okay?” 

There was an older man behind him. Ray didn’t let himself get pushed down, not until he knew who the old geezer was. Ryan must have seen him staring at the blurry shape over his shoulder. 

“This is Dr. Burns. He’s a friend of mine, he fixed you up.” The doctor snickered. “Ray, you need to rest or you’re going to pull out your stitches.” 

Ray let Ryan push him down, only because of how Ryan’s voice cracked. He kept his right hand at the ready. 

“My glasses—” Ryan turned to a desk on the far side of the room. Soon his glasses were being pressed into his hands and Ray shoved them onto his face. He was back in Ryan’s room and he quickly made a note of how many windows were there, how far the door was, and how solid the doctor seemed. He looked soft, and Ray would still bet on himself even if he only had one good hand. “Thanks.” 

Ray felt naked and not just because he only in his underwear. He wanted to ask where his things were, where is rifle was—but the doctor was staring at him. Ray smiled, making sure to keep all the warmth out of his expression. 

“You gonna ask me out on a date or what?”

The doctor laughed, rolling his eyes before nudging Ryan.

“I’ll be in the kitchen.” 

The doctor left and Ray let himself relax, but it was a few moments before he took his eyes off the door. He smiled at Ryan, small and shy. 

“Hey. Thanks for uh, taking me in, I guess.” 

Ryan, now that he looked at him, looked… like shit. His face was grey, his complexion sallow. He ran his fingers through his hair, his knuckles white as he gripped the bedpost. 

He looked lost and honestly distressed. Ray couldn’t remember the last time someone looked at him like that, like they were trying to convince themselves that he was alive in front of them. Ryan had lost sleep over it. His gaze made Ray’s skin itch and he glanced away. 

“If I blew you, would you feel better?”

As the words fell off his tongue they tasted like poison. He watched Ryan’s face twist into a grimace as he shook his head, whispering a soft, choked, “… no,” before he left the room. 

Ray flopped down onto the pillow. He was a fucking moron.

::::

Burnie was waiting for him in the kitchen, making a fresh pot of coffee. Ryan sighed, his hands trembling as Burnie handed him a cup. 

“Thank you.” Ryan rubbed his face. “Seriously, thank you for—for answering the phone and coming over. I know it’s late and—”

“Don’t worry about it.” Burnie smiled. “You’ve saved my computer’s life so many times. Least I could do was save a life for you.” Burnie laughed even though Ryan didn’t think it was funny at all. “He’s got spunk.” 

Ryan did smile at that. Burnie washed his hands in the sink, blood washing down the drain. The five bullets that were in Ray’s shoulder and back were in a bowl next to the sink. Ryan couldn’t stop staring at them, those small, misshapen lumps of metal still covered in Ray’s blood. 

“What do I do?” 

Burnie wiped his hands off on his jeans. 

“Keep him hydrated. Water and orange juice, the glucose and vitamins will be good for him. Change the bandages at least twice a day and flush it with alcohol.” Burnie slipped on his coat and scarf. “Whether or not you call the police is up to you.” Ryan flinched and Burnie pointed at the bullets. “If you decide not to, I’d get rid of those.”

Ryan nodded. 

“Thank you. Good night, Burnie.”

With a salute, the doctor left. Ryan took a few deep breaths before he went back to the bedroom. Ray was still awake, his head on the pillow. Ryan moved to the empty side of the bed and sat on it, kicking off his shoes. Ray nudged him with his good hand. 

“Are you… are you going to call the police?” A headache throbbed behind Ryan’s eyes. “Did you already? Come on, man, just a little warning would be nice and I’ll be out of your hair—”

“I didn’t fucking call them.” Ray’s shoulders jumped and Ryan felt a small pang of guilt. He squeezed Ray’s leg. “Just focus on getting better, all right?”

Ray nodded. 

“All right.”

They laid in the dark together until Ray’s breathing became deep and even. Once he was asleep Ryan got up again and went to the kitchen, throwing cold water onto his clammy face. He’d had time to throw Ray’s things into a separate freezer. A pink, bloodstained sniper rifle was sitting on top of ground meet and pierogis. 

He couldn’t stop seeing Ray’s pale body slumped against his porch, blood on the door like he’d been pounding on it, begging Ryan to let him in. The desperate duct tape on his shoulder, how he didn’t wake up when Ryan picked him up and dragged him inside. He’d been halfway hysterical when he called Burnie, tears falling from his eyes as he sputtered, “Burnie, I need your help,” and within minutes Burnie was pulling up to Ryan’s house, no questions asked. 

Ryan felt like he’d lost fifteen years off his life. 

He poured himself a glass of water when his freezer started ringing. He opened it to see Ray’s pink smart phone flashing. The screen just said “UNKNOWN.” Ryan told himself to be smart about it, to not let his anger at someone who let this happen to Ray get to him. Hell, whoever it was could be directly responsible or some sort of… actual criminal who would kill Ryan. 

But he wasn’t being smart, not when he grabbed the phone and swiped across the screen to accept the call, pressing the phone to his ear. 

_“Oh thank God, asshole, I’ve been fucking calling you a million times where the fuck—”_

“Who is this?” Ryan saw red, he’d never been this angry. He heard the pink phone case creak in his grip. “Who the _fuck_ is this?”

_“I could ask the same of you, buddy. Put Ray on the phone.”_

“No.” Ryan thought of Ray’s frail body in bed, how torn up his left hand was—and the five bullets still in Ryan’s kitchen. “He can’t talk to you right now.” 

The silence on the other end lasted for a while, and the man’s voice rose in pitch.

_“Listen, cocksucker, I’m going to get Ray and when I do, you better not better not be there, buddy, or I’m gonna fucking skin you alive—”_

Ryan hung up and threw the phone on the other side of the room, the battery breaking apart from it. His hand stung and Ryan looked down to see that he’d broken his glass, some shards sticking out of his palm. 

He quietly picked them out, running his hand under cold water. 

::::

When Ray woke he felt like he’d been hit by a truck, but was a little more with it than the last time, so he counted that as a win. He sat up, grimacing at how the stitches pulled in his skin. He saw that some pajamas were laid out on the bed. He smiled and pulled them on, tying the pants extra tight because they were too big on him.

“Ryan?” Ray looked out the window. The sun was up… so that was something. Ray needed to get oriented, a clock, a phone, email—anything. He went down the hall, his legs aching as he took steps closer to the kitchen. He found Ryan slumped over in a chair, resting his head in his arms on the table. Ray shook Ryan’s shoulder, his heart squeezing tightly in his chest when Ryan’s eyes fluttered open. “Hey, dude— _mmf_!” 

Ray wasn’t expecting to be kissed. They both had crusty morning breath and Ryan looked like he’d slept for about five minutes in the past two days and Ray probably looked gross as hell. But for a few moments it didn’t matter as they were making out in the kitchen, grasping at each other. Ryan pulled Ray into his lap. It didn’t feel… overly sexual, which was funny since Ray was straddling him—but more desperate, like Ryan just wanted Ray as close as possible. 

Ryan grabbed Ray’s shoulder and Ray flinched, accidentally biting Ryan’s lip. 

“Ah, fuck—”

Ryan’s fingers twitched against his hip, his other hand jerking away from his shoulder.

“Oh God, Ray, I’m so sorry—” 

Ryan stood, lifting Ray effortlessly and sitting him on the table. Ray flailed a little, grasping for a weapon to defend himself only to realize that he had nothing. He steadied himself with his right hand as Ryan pushed up Ray’s shirt and carefully changed his bandages. 

Ray didn’t flinch once Ryan got out the alcohol and swiped it over the wounds. Ryan’s gaze was intent, every movement smooth and focused on Ray. It made him squirm. He liked blending into the background, hell; it was a part of his job to blend in, to go unnoticed. Ryan noticed everything. 

The next step was his hand, which looked a lot worse. Ray hissed as Ryan gently peeled the bandages off and Ray had to squeeze his eyes shut when the rubbing alcohol washed over the raw skin and scabs. As Ryan put on fresh gauze he kissed Ray’s nose, making him open his eyes. 

“Sorry if I was… harsh last night.” Ryan smiled despite the dark circles under his eyes. “It was just a shock, to see you—I thought you were dead.” 

Ray forced himself to smile, his right hand reaching out so he could pinch Ryan’s face until he smiled too. 

“Well, I’m not.” 

God, even though he looked fucking exhausted, Ryan was a handsome man when he smiled. Ray’s stomach growled, ruining whatever moment might have happened. He laughed and Ryan immediately went to cook cooking a small feast. The smell alone made Ray drool. 

Ryan poured orange juice and Ray smiled.

“Glucose. Good thinking.”

Ryan’s hand faltered around the orange juice, but soon Ryan had two trays with mountains of food on it and a grin on his face. 

“So… how about we eat and play some video games?”

Ray’s heart hurt, he smiled so wide.

“When my hand and shoulder are better I’m gonna fuck you for weeks, Ryan. _Weeks_.” 

Ryan kissed him for that. A short kiss on the lips, the kind that make a real loud _smack_. Ray followed Ryan to the game room, and Ryan somehow was able to hold the door open for him even with two trays in his hands. 

“You know you don’t have to fuck me for video games. Like, that’s not a thing you need to do.” Ryan kept looking at him. Ray opened his mouth to object because come on, Ryan had every generation of consoles basically, and an arcade—but Ryan shook his head. “Have sex with me because you want to have sex with me. That’s it.” 

Ray dug into the best potatoes he’d ever tasted, moaning around his fork.

“Yeah, but—”

“Just say thank you.”

Ray didn’t agree with Ryan, a mere thank you wasn’t enough as Ryan booted up his XBOX One, but if it’s what Ryan wanted, what the hell. 

“Thank you, Ryan.”

They ate, Ray whined that he was going to get fat, while Ryan muttered, “You’re too skinny—” and Ray kicked Ryan’s asshole in at video games with only one working hand. Sometime between Ryan cheering Ray on during Tetris Ultimate and Ryan being a creepy beast in GTA V, Ray feel asleep, his back against Ryan’s chest. 

::::

For a lazy Sunday, Ryan couldn’t complain about Ray snoring lightly in his arms, his left hand curled against his chest while his right rested on Ryan’s thigh. He smelled like sweat and maple syrup from the pancakes. Ryan paused the game and tried not to think about how tomorrow he’d have to go back to school and not look—haggard. 

He kissed Ray’s stubbly cheek—and Ray jerked awake. Ryan opened his mouth to apologize but Ray covered it with his right hand. He brought his lips to Ryan’s ear. 

“I think someone’s here.” 

Ryan, who wasn’t recently shot and had full mobility of both hands—was frozen as Ray was immediately crouched, using the knife Ryan had given him to cut his strips of steak as a way to see out of the door. Ryan was on his feet and Ray waved his hand to get him to sit down frantically, but it was too late, the floorboard creaked and Ryan winced. Someone reflected in the knifes slammed against the wall—and Ray squinted before sticking his head out around the corner, almost giving Ryan a heart attack. 

“Geoff? What the fuck?”

“ _Ray_?” Ryan stiffened because it was the voice from the phone and Ray was slowly getting up, gripping the doorframe with his hand. “Are you okay? Have you been kidnapped?” 

“What?” Ryan helped Ray the rest of the way up and a man with a fantastical mustache and beautiful tattoos pointed a gun at him when they stepped out into the hall. “Whoa, whoa, Geoff,” Ray looked back at Ryan. “What’s going on?” 

“This asshole wouldn’t put you on the phone yesterday and I thought you’d been Dahmer’d. God,” The man—Geoff—put his hand to his heart, “I thought you’d been made into a fucking lampshade, Ray!” Geoff lowered his weapon when he took in Ray wearing Ryan’s pajamas and how Ryan’s hand was on Ray’s shoulder, ready to yank Ray behind him. Geoff raised an eyebrow before waggling it, leering at Ray. “Is this your _weekend_ , Ray?”

Ray crossed his arms, making sure to be careful with is hand. 

“Yeah. What of it?”

Ryan was sure he was missing something because Geoff had the biggest shit-eating grin on his face. He winked at Ryan, punching him in the shoulder. It hurt. 

“Sweet. Have fun, kids. Ray, pick up your fucking phone when I call.” 

Geoff, the mysterious figure, sauntered out of Ryan’s house whistling. Ryan wasn’t sure when his life had become so weird.

::::

It got really quiet when Ryan wasn’t around. Ray was used to traffic, police sirens, and about a thousand things to do. It was so quiet Ray’s ears were ringing and there was nothing outside but trees. He put together his phone, cleaned his rifle, and exercised his hand all within the first hour he was awake. 

Ray was packed and in his car in a matter of seconds and was on the highway. The ringing in his ears stopped when he turned on the radio and just seeing another car on the road made his chest relax, it was proof that civilization was out there. 

It had been a few hours of driving and that was when Ray passed a school bus. His grip on the wheel faltered and he had to pull over. It was hard to breathe and that never happened to Ray unless he was actually getting the shit choked out of him. He closed his eyes, pressing his right hand to them because he couldn’t get the image of Ryan’s stupid face—

Ryan Haywood’s _stupid fucking crushed expression_ because that’s the way he’d look when he’d get home and Ray was just gone. 

Ray turned around and when he got back to Ryan’s house, Ryan was already home. Ray opened the door and Ryan was in the kitchen, his bag still in his hands—and Ray braced himself. Ryan turned and Ray wanted to close his eyes, he shouldn’t have come back, he should have just gone back to Los Angeles, should have left this boondocks behind—

“What do you want for dinner?” 

He never asked where Ray went or if he was going to leave. Somehow… that was a million times worse.

::::

Ryan ran his fingers over Ray’s chest, savoring how Ray writhed beneath him. Ryan took his time, he had Ray begging to move faster but he wanted to be thorough. He wanted to remember this. He wanted to remember the way Ray fucked himself on Ryan’s fingers, how when he was wrung out—cock red and leaking, Ray just mouthed at Ryan’s neck instead of kissing, as if he’d forgotten how. 

Ryan was sure to be careful with Ray’s shoulder, having him lay on pillows, and didn’t touch his left hand. By the time he snapped his hips forward and shank into Ray, Ray had stopped begging, he just moaned. Ryan’s heartbeat stuttered, each frenzied breath Ray drew in sending fire through Ryan’s veins. 

Ray came untouched, somewhere along the way and Ryan shuddered, his shoulders shaking, and Ray smiled, squeezing around Ryan with a wink.

“Come on, Rye.” 

Ryan’s chest was too tight, he felt like he was drowning, like if he let go at that moment he’d disappear. He lost the battle, because Ray’s teeth slid along Ryan’s neck and that was enough to startle a squeak from Ryan—and it was over. 

As their sweat cooled and Ryan’s heartbeat returned to normal, Ray let out a startled laugh.

“Holy fuck, Ryan.”

Ray’s hand weakly grasped in his direction, and Ryan caught it, weaving their fingers together. 

::::

Rule number four of being a professional criminal: 

Don’t fall in love. It makes a _huge_ mess. 

Ray didn’t fall asleep after Ryan decided to fuck him into another dimension. Any other day of the week and Ray would have been out like a light—but he couldn’t sleep, his nerves kept buzzing. 

As Ryan slept easily next to him Ray had to admit that… this didn’t seem too bad. Staying with Ryan, making him laugh and beating his ass in video games was a good life. Ray could do it—he’d keep Ryan happy with a million blowjobs and cuddling, because Ryan was an old man who loved to cuddle. 

But… if Ray was being honest, he couldn’t do much when it came to legal professions. He was a great gamer and a great shooter. Not a lot of openings for him when it came to making an “honest” living. Fuck—this whole thing was a stupid long shot anyway. 

Ray sat up, rubbing his eyes with his right hand. He needed air—he needed LA smog to clear his head. God, what the hell was he doing? Playing househusband with a dorky teacher who liked to cook for him—Jesus, who was he kidding? 

Ray got out of bed quickly and quietly. He’d done it a million times, slipping away into the night without making a sound. He pulled on pants, grimacing at the dried come on his belly. He’d shower later; right now he had to get the hell away from Ryan. He was opening the door to the bedroom when the sheets rustled. 

“This is… this is _something_ , right?” Ray’s grip tightened on the doorknob. “I mean, I get it, you’re job isn’t exactly conventional or legal. But I don’t just fuck people.” Ray couldn’t breathe, he had to get out—but Ryan wouldn’t stop, his voice delicate in the dark. “You keep coming back, Ray. That… has to mean something to you.”

Ray wanted to scream that it didn’t—he told himself to go for the throat, to cut Ryan so deep with words that he’d never love the same way again. 

But he couldn’t. 

Ray slammed the door behind him, struggling to breathe as he ran to his car, throwing his stuff in the back and tearing down the dirt road. 

::::

Burnie got why people liked Crescent Hills, why certain people were attracted to the small-town culture. He was okay with it, but sometimes it got to be a little much. For one thing, he didn’t like how he had to hear about Ryan about twenty times in one day, because countless people were concerned about him. That was bullshit. Countless people were _curious_ , but not concerned. 

He wheeled his shopping cart down to the milk aisle and came to a stop because there was a small crowd. Burnie elbowed his way to the front because he wasn’t about to become a psycho that ate cereal without milk because of a measly little cluster of people—

But then he saw Ryan. People were gathered because Ryan was there—glassy-eyed staring at the two-percent milk. Burnie saw how grey his skin was, and the goose bumps that had spread across his neck and cheeks. 

“Shoo!” Burnie steered the crowd away. “Isn’t there some reality show you guys could be watching instead?” The gawkers dispersed with a few uncomfortable chuckles. As soon as the last back had turned, Burnie shook Ryan. “Ryan, what the hell are you doing?”

Ryan jumped, blinking slowly.

“What?”

His skin felt like ice. Burnie pressed his hand against Ryan’s forehead, not caring when Ryan slapped it away. 

“How long have you been standing here?”

Ryan shook his head, rubbing his eyes. 

“Not long. Just… not long.” Ryan took a look at Burnie before pawing at his own face. “Shit, do I look that bad?”

Burnie snorted.

“No. Worse. Come on, get your shit. I’m making you dinner.” 

Burnie liked Ryan because unlike the rest of the town, he didn’t need to bury himself in gossip to feel secure. Ryan never asked questions that weren’t necessary and he still sent thank-you cards. He was a good guy. 

So when Ryan called Burnie in tears, Burnie didn’t ask questions. He just drove over as fast as he could and dug five bullets out of a kid’s shoulder. A kid that Ryan looked at like—like he was something special. Burnie sat Ryan down in his kitchen and made his mother’s potato-leak soup, the ultimate comfort food. He sliced up sourdough for toast. 

Halfway through his first bowl of soup, Ryan spoke.

“I’m an idiot.”

“Eh. I wouldn’t say that. Emotionally particular, sure.” Burnie poured himself some coffee. “Maybe a little too trusting of… certain people. But other than that, you’re good.”

Burnie was rooted deep enough in the town to know that Janine the English teacher had the biggest crush on Ryan. He kept being aloof and polite even though it would have been the easiest date for him to get. He liked his privacy, and Burnie respected that. 

However, Burnie figured being knuckle-deep in a young man’s shoulder earned him a few questions. 

“So… what happened?”

Over soup and coffee, Ryan told him everything with a crooked smile. The break-in, how Ryan _made the bandit dinner_ , and the crazy, sporadic weekends of sex that followed. It all seemed like something out of a film because of all the people to do something so insane, Burnie would never include Ryan (cardigan loving and game restoration enthusiast _Ryan_ ) in the list. 

Burnie took even breaths so he didn’t hyperventilate, and he said the first thing that came to his mind. 

“Didn’t anyone ever tell you not to feed strays, Ryan?”

Ryan’s eyes widened briefly before he laughed, loud and full. It put color back in his cheeks so Burnie counted it as a win. 

::::

Geoff liked to think he was in tune with his team. He used to believe that friendship didn’t exist in crime, but he was too old to be that paranoid. His crew was top; Los Angeles was their playground. They were feared and respected, even Gavin. 

Jack did a cannonball while Michael and Gavin were splashing each other in the pool because apparently today they reverted to being five-year-olds. Ray was inside, scrolling through bullet and equipment orders. Geoff had his shades, his boys, and a margarita in his hand. The day was pretty perfect. 

The last couple of months had been pretty great. The jobs kept coming and the hauls were big. Gavin was focused and Michael’s anger helped rather than hindered. Geoff twirled a flower between his fingers, breathing in the Los Angeles air and tilting his head back into the sun. 

Still, Geoff felt an underlying tension. He got up and sauntered back into the house, blinking to have his eyes adjust as Ray sat on the couch, iPad in hand. Geoff slumped next to him. 

“You haven’t taken a weekend in a while.”

Ray’s expression flickered out for a millisecond; if Geoff had blinked he would have missed the lightening-fast downward pull of Ray’s lips and how the corner of his eyes tightened for a moment. It was a good thing Geoff didn’t blink before Ray shrugged with an easy-going smile. 

“Eh. Old dongs can’t keep up with me.”

It wasn’t that Ray wasn’t performing well. If anything, Ray had been going above and beyond in the line of duty. But when Ray thought no one was looking—he’d get these looks that made him look… old. And no one was allowed to be a cynical old man except Geoff. 

Geoff gently took the iPad out of Ray’s hands, setting it down on the table. Behind them Gavin shrieked and Jack laughed, splashing obliviously on. Geoff took off his shades, rubbing his eyes briefly. 

“Look, I want my crew to be happy. And for a while you’ve been happy here. But it’s okay if you want to leave, I’m not gonna get mad, Ray.” 

Ray didn’t bother hiding his distress, his brown eyes wide.

“Geoff—wait, I don’t know what—I _love_ it here, nothing else, no other gig even _compares_ —”

“I know.” Geoff winked, nudging Ray to try and get the kid to relax. “That’s not what I mean. I know I’m the best. I’m talking about a life outside of this.” Ray hadn’t moved, his eyes were locked with Geoff’s. Geoff squeezed Ray’s knee. “He seemed nice, your weekend guy. I might’ve been a little mean to him at first, but I thought you liked him.” 

Ray’s breaths started to come in short bursts and he looked away, blinking rapidly. 

“I don’t… he doesn’t…”

His eyes were wet with panic. Geoff gripped the side of Ray’s face, trying to ground the poor kid. 

“I’m not kicking you out, Ray. I’m just saying that if you wanted to give it a shot with him, I’m not going to stop you. And if it doesn’t work out, there will always be a place for you here. I just don’t want you to regret something later down the road.” Ray’s lower lip trembled and it broke Geoff’s heart. “You’re young. Go out, fucking take a crazy risk and see what happens.” 

Ray’s chest heaved and he covered his eyes, his shoulders jerking up quietly. Geoff pulled him forward, hugging him because he was his colleague, but still just a young man. Ray gripped Geoff’s shirt tight. He only held on for about two minutes before pushing himself away. 

He wiped his cheek, walking to the bathroom without a word. 

Geoff let his head fall back against the couch. Sometimes, in moments like this, he’d thank God that he didn’t have any kids—but then Gavin would scrape his knee on the pool and he’d have a heart-to-heart with Ray… and Geoff realized he might have adopted a slew of children without realizing it. 

::::

Winter thawed into spring. Lichen and clovers peeked out through the snow and the smell of fresh, wet earth was on every breeze. Ryan walked along the edge of his property, picking up broken branches. 

Burnie suggested planting peonies, but Ryan was thinking violets. He dumped his branches into a pile, making his way over the hill and walking down the path to his house. 

Ryan wondered about changing up his curriculum, to keep the kids fresh on the information. He had some new paints being delivered to give is kitchen a new color. 

He pushed through some low-hanging tree branches, his boots crunching on the pebbles that made up his driveway. He had to block out the sun briefly, squinting—and he saw a blur of purple. 

As his eyes adjusted, his heart beat faster and louder—until it was all he could hear. Ray had his back to him, hands in his pockets—taking a deep breath and looking at Ryan’s house. His shoulders were relaxed, and he looked good, healthy and not too skinny.

Ray turned.

He grinned.

**Author's Note:**

> This was a long one... anyway, hope you guys liked it, let me know!


End file.
